Ratchet hadn't much liked the idea of disembodiment much before in her life, and it didn't seem awfully pleasant even now. Being that the wind was currently assaulting her from all sides, disembodiment seemed not a bad word to describe her current situation. Ratchet was also getting tired. She's kinda lost track of time, so she couldn't have known she'd been awake for a straight week, but her body was catching up with the fact, and she fell asleep. She also fell speedily toward the ground.
Ratchet woke up again in a hospital bed, and blinked five times. The room was empty and dark. She found she couldn't remember why she was in the hospital. On the whiteboard across from her was written a name:
Dr. Cook.
It seemed odd until she looked at her hand. In all honesty, she actually looked a couple inches above her wrist. There wasn't much hand there to be seen. Peculiar.
And then it all came together. Literally and figuratively. Her hand reassembled from gaseous elements, and she decided to be a superhero. She left her bed and jumped out the window.
The rest is history. Or, rather, unwritten fiction. But still a history of sorts.
!Noah!
